Agent Broom
by MissScaryKitty
Summary: Another agent has been added to George Smiley's team by Oliver Lacon. Though trustworthy, she may be a bit too closely connected to the investigation for comfort. Follows Film.
1. Chapter 1

**Hampstead Heath: Mid Morning**

Sylvia stood on the dock, towel in hand, and stared down at the stagnant waters of the lake. The Heath was quiet and still, a tranquil place for residents to go and take in the fresh air.

"_You were one of the agents whose cover was blown in Hungary after the incident last year, is that correct?" Oliver _Lacon's voice echoed in her mind as she shed her jacket and camisole top to reveal her one piece Olympic bathing suit.

"_Yes, we were expecting Prideaux to burry what he knew but I guess that was too much to hope for."_

"_And you kept silent during your captivity?"_

"_Yes," she replied, her voice a bit quieter as the memories of her time spent in Budapest began to resurface. _

Even though it had been several weeks ago, their conversation was still fresh in her mind and for some reason she kept mulling over it. It was something Lacon said about Control but she couldn't quite put her finger on why it seemed off-putting to her. Still, it got her a place on this current investigation so she kept her suspicions at a minimum.

Sylvia then slipped her fingers into the waistband of her black sweat pants and pulled them down. The chilled January air made the skin on her bare thighs grow goose bumps. She knew the water was going to be far colder but she tried to push that thought out of her mind. Suddenly, she felt everything in her body slow down as she stared out at the uninviting water and she asked herself if she was really going to do this.

"_I know your loyalty was to Control and the members of the old Circus even after they left. So let me ask you, how far are you willing to go to be in their world again?" He inquired, folding his hands atop his desk as he looked into her eyes. _

_She paused long while in serious consideration then answered, "A fair bit farther than you and Alleline were willing to go for me."_

_Slightly annoyed, Lacon pursed his lips before saying, "If we could have gotten you out of Hungary we would have."_

"_Control managed to do it," she replied. Lacon's face tensed at her response. He never liked dealing with agents from the Nursery, they were always mouthy and arrogant. _

"_Yes, and it was the only thing he did right during that whole mess," he told her sternly._

"_He did what he did but he also saved my life, that's not something one forgets, sir." _

She stepped towards the end of the dock until the balls of her feet were perched over the edge. Pushing her hair back from her face, Sylvia breathed deeply into her diaphragm. She knew nothing would fully prepare herself for this; she would just have to take the plunge. Raising her arms in above her head, she dove in on her exhale.

The second she was submerged in the water she felt like thousands of little needles were being pushed into her body at once. It was far colder than she had imagined and something about the freezing darkness closing in on her reminded her of that little room in Budapest. Before the memories could flood her mind she clawed her way up through the water. When Sylvia broke the surface she let out a surprised yelp. She was too cold to manage a real scream; it seemed as if her lungs had constricted themselves in her chest.

First she wrapped her arms around herself to retain any sort of body heat she had left then abandoned that idea almost immediately and scrambled over to the ladder on the dock. She couldn't bare the water one moment longer. There was no point in putting herself through this pain, she thought.

"_Who else is on the team?" She asked, curious as to the size of this investigation._

"_Peter Guillam."_

_One other man… "Isn't he busy working on the Tar incident?"_

_Lacon shrugged, "Smiley requested him."_

_Interesting choice, she thought, but less interesting than… "And me?"_

"_He needs another agent. You were my request," he replied. There was no hint of satisfaction in his voice and it made her wonder how she was even chosen at all. _

"_And you think he'll accept you making such a decision for him?" she asked. _

"_Miss Broom, I'm not picking you because I want you, I'm picking you because I know he will work with you." This explained things a bit more to her… Smiley gets an agent he would accept and Lacon gets to maintain his illusion of control over the investigation by assigning her to him. As ludicrous as this was, she wasn't going to argue with him by pointing that out._

Her limbs were stiffening by the second as she swam towards the dock and she became more and more convinced that this whole idea was a mistake with every passing moment. Grabbing onto the metal rails of the ladder, she hoisted herself up out of the water and sat in a ball on the dock's edge.

Sylvia was shivering like mad as she looked down at her blue/white toes, wondering how on Earth Smiley managed to swim in this lake every other day. She let out a shaky, miserable sigh and began wringing out her hair; anything to raise her body temperature.

Her heart was pounding anxiously in her chest from fear of almost reawakening her nightmares. For a moment there, she had come close to having an attack, but once she reached topside she was able to get a hold of her senses. She hadn't felt like that in over seven months and she wasn't going to let herself get that bad ever again.

She then heard the wood creak behind her and she whipped her head around quick enough to catch Smiley leaning over and draping her unfolded towel around her shoulders. She gripped the soft fabric close to her and waited quietly for him to say something. Her pulse was near racing now but for a different reason. Thankfully her face was too cold to redden in embarrassment.

"It's a bit of a shock the first time," he said after a while, taking his gaze off of her and looking out onto the water.

"Yes, it's not as easy as you make it look…" she said, trying find something halfway witty to say but coming up short. Smiley offered her a grin and nodded before letting go of the towel. Sylvia bit down on her lip and pushed herself onto her feet. "I think I'll leave the swimming to you from now on," she said, fishing for her pants and jacket.

Smiley opened his mouth to make a reply but then found himself holding back. He then waited patiently on the shore as she slipped her clothes back on. Smiley respectfully turned his back to her, pretending to watch the birds peck at the ground for seeds. Once she came up by his side, they walked down the path towards the car park.

AN: OMG So excited I found this Tinker Tailor section on ! BIG fan of the movie and I couldn't wait to write something about it but I thought maybe no one else was interested... hopefully not the case. Please Review :)


	2. Chapter 2

**The Hotel Islay: Five Days Later**

Smiley picked up one of the chess pieces off of the desk in front of him and pushed his glassed up the bridge of his nose to get a better look at the picture on it. He stared at the photo of Alleline taped onto the mahogany stained game piece as the wheels of his mind began to turn. '_Everything the Circus thinks is gold is_ _shit'_, that's what Tarr said the woman, Irina, told him. Why are you so invested in Witchcraft, Tinker, he asked himself. Sharing information with the American's had an understandable appeal, but why must their alliance be attached to Witchcraft?

Just then there was a light knock at the door. Smiley took his eyes off of the chess piece and set it back down on the desktop next to the others. Slowly pushing himself out of his chair, he made his way to the front door. He knew it was Sylvia because Peter was far more heavy-handed with his knocks. Sylvia had a subtler manner about her.

He would admit that it was nice having a feminine presence around for a change. He could tell that Peter could have cared less, but Smiley found that it aired out some of the mental as well as physical clutter. Sylvia was also a good change of pace for them. He found that him and her were often of the same mind and could work out problems in the investigation over tea while Peter did the bulk of the espionage at the Circus. Not to mention her being a pretty young woman had its advantages, particularly when it came to getting around Haydon and Bland without issues.

Unlocking the latch, Smiley opened the door for her. She was standing there on the porch, waiting patiently with her hands in the pockets of her stylish coat and her damp hair clinging to her shoulders.

"You're all wet," Smiley stated before stepping aside and letting her in. He was pretty sure it hadn't rained today.

Sylvia nodded as she passed him, a wry smile gracing her lips. Nothing like stating the obvious, she thought to herself as she pressed the ends of her damp hair into the collar of her wool long-coat in an attempt to save the carpet from getting wet.

"I went back to the lake," she informed him. Just then, a heavy shiver from the sudden onslaught of the indoor heating ran through her body. Her reaction to the instant climate change did not go unnoticed by Smiley who briefly made note to get a cup of tea in her before she caught a chill.

"And how did you find it?" He inquired, shutting the door and setting the latch. Sylvia felt he already knew the answer but humored him all the same.

"Manageable this time, thank you," she said pulling off her leather gloves and putting them in her handbag. No one would ever know the strength that it took her to go back to that place and dive into those dark waters once more. The whole time she had told herself that it was one step closer to being normal again.

An unreadable grin tugged at the corner of Smiley's lips but he said nothing else on the subject. He offered to get her coat which she slipped off of her shoulders and handed to him to hang on the hook in the entryway. Sylvia didn't know if she was looking for his approval or bragging rights to her success but she knew that his silence was not the answer that she wanted from him. How unsatisfying, she thought to herself as she made her way up the steps to the cluttered apartment.

'_How far are you willing to go to be in their world again_?' She mulled over Lacon's words silently in her head as she went over to her usual place on the mangy brocade couch. The hard iron springs creaked beneath her weight and all she could do to make herself more comfortable was to throw the sunken decorative pillows around. _Their world_… Control was dead and now Smiley was the only one left that she could trust. Now the real question was what did Smiley's world mean to her exactly; a place by his side or a place at the table in HQ?

The answer was elusive and always changing. One desire always seemed to compromise the other and truth be told she could not make a decision on one or the other because she wanted to believe she could get away with having both. Of course this thought was naïve and she knew it too.

Smiley rounded the couch and made his way over to the rusted stove in the corner kitchenette. He refilled his mug of Earl Grey and then fixed her one. "There we are," he said, setting it down on the low coffee table in front of her and heading to his desk chair to sit down.

"Thank you," Sylvia said, not surprised by his polite kindness. She knew that he cared for his people in his own quiet way; perhaps that's why she was so fond of him. Wrapping her hands around the mug for warmth she looked over to him, "So what should we start on first?"

Smiley pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he decided if he should lead the discussion with the new development on Tarr or not. His eyes fell on hers in a brief moment of judgment. He knew that she regarded him with honest trust. He then wondered if he were a worse man, a deceitful man, would she still put her faith in him. How far did her loyalty actually extend to?

He remembered going with Control to Heathrow to pick her up from the plain they had chartered from Budapest and drive her to their medical facility. Sylvia was the only agent they were able to get back from Hungary after Prideaux had leaked their names to the Russians. It was nothing short of a miracle that she was still alive. Her torturers must have not finished working her over for information or she would have been killed like the rest.

_Smiley could hardly believe what she looked like as the medics carried her off the plane and put her on a stretcher. It had only been several months before that he had seen her at the Christmas party mingling with Peter and the other Nursery boys, looking perfectly quaffed and beautiful as always. Trouble-in-a-skirt as Bill Haydon used to call her, jokingly of course. _

_The poor girl, he thought looking down at her now. She was the one who had really been betrayed, her and the other agents still left in Hungary. What made Prideaux blow their cover, he wondered. He was dying, what could have possibly compelled him to rat out his own countrymen?_

_Control couldn't manage a word as the Service turned her over to their custody. He just signed the forms they handed him and walked along with the stretcher as they took her to the ambulance that was waiting on the tarmac. Smiley watched as Control cautiously reached out to put a hand on her shoulder but then pulled away at the last moment and held back as the waiting personnel loaded her into the vehicle. Now he knew why Control wanted him there: watching one of their own coming home defeated and broken was never something he could have faced alone. Smiley said nothing about it, knowing that was what Control wanted. There was really nothing that one could say to make any of this better. One out of six agents had been saved and she was barely alive. What more bad news would they have to endure?_

"_They used sleep deprivation on her," Control said in the car on the way back to the office. "You could tell by the bruising patterns around her eyes."_

_Smiley merely nodded, "I know."_

_That was all they said to one another before Smiley pulled the car over in front of the Circus. Control sat in the passenger seat for a moment, looking out the window at the gate before saying, "She's a good agent George, I'm glad we got her back."_

_Grabbing up his briefcase, Control opened the door and headed inside leaving Smiley to go park the car. Watching him head through the checkpoint at the gate, Smiley noticed how much weaker the man looked. This mess was taking its toll on all of them and he wondered when and how it was all going to end. _

A few days after Sylvia was brought back home to England, he and Control were fired. Smiley never visited her in the hospital but he often found himself sitting at home alone thinking about her battered face and bloodied hands; especially on those first few nights. Remembering back on this, Smiley looked at her face now as she sat across from him. He studied how flawless it appeared in the softly lit room; it was as if nothing had ever happened to her before. Only a trained eye could catch the slight heaviness that was added to her gaze since she came home from Budapest. He then realized that there wasn't any reason as to why he should withhold the information about Ricki Tarr from her. She had already proven herself trustworthy of keeping secrets and Control was right, she was a good agent.

"How about we start off with Tarr?" He asked, his eyebrow slightly rose as he looked at her over his mug.

"He's back?" She asked, her eyes lighting up in surprise at the news.

Smiley nodded, amused that he could catch her interest so quickly, "Indeed…"

AN: Thank you for your review(s) please keep it up!


	3. Chapter 3

**Control's House: The next day**

Standing on the porch of Control's house, Tarr looked over to Sylvia who had been silent for the past twenty minutes or so. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier, I was out of line," he said.

"Please knock on the door Mr. Tarr so we can get off of the street," Sylvia replied calmly, ignoring his apology. They had to pose as husband and wife all day in order to get him to the new safe house and she wanted nothing to do with him at the moment.

_As they walked through Hyde Park, Ricki kept catching glances of Sylvia and her long blonde hair out of the corner of his eye and startling himself, thinking it was Irina. After coming home from Istanbul, he thought if he went to Smiley for help he would be reprieved of some of his guilt but then when he was introduced to Sylvia and all chances of relief went out the window. Her presence on Smiley's team greatly unsettled him; every time he looked at her he couldn't help but think of Irina and what was being done to her because of him._

_The two of them were alone now, traversing the streets of London while posing as a couple in order to get him to Control's house unnoticed; Smiley's orders. He never talked to Sylvia but there were so many questions that he had wanted to ask her, hoping that she could give him some ease about Irina's situation. Now the perfect opportunity had arisen. _

_He didn't know what he expected her to tell him, but anything was better than being left in the dark. Ricki did not dare say anything to her while Smiley and Guillam were around but since they were alone now, he thought that he might be able to talk to her._

_Ricki looked over at the tall oaks in the grass, his arm linked with hers as they moseyed down the gravel path together. Once in a while they would share idle chit chat but mostly they kept quiet and simply enjoyed the scenery, or at least he supposed Sylvia did. Ricki felt his stomach tighten as he gathered up the courage to say something to her. He knew that there was really nothing he could do to get him ready for this conversation, he was just going to have to ask and be done with it. _

"_You were in Hungary last year weren't you?" He asked, the words somewhat spilling out of his mouth._

"_Yes," Sylvia answered quietly so no one around them could hear. She couldn't believe that he was talking about this in a public park where anyone could pick up on their conversation. "Why are you asking me this?" She nearly hissed, unable to hide her anger towards his boldness._

"_Because," he spoke in a hushed tone. Just then a man walking his Australian Sheppard came within hearing distance of them and Ricki quickly quieted down until he passed. Once they were well out of earshot he said, "I have to know… how did you survive it? I just need to know that there's a chance for Irina to get out."_

_Despite the biting cold, Sylvia felt her face grow hot and her heart rate skyrocket; at this point her anger outweighed any anxiety she felt from possibly being heard. She wanted nothing more than to pull away from him and leave him in the middle of Hyde Park but she restrained herself from doing so, reminding herself that she had a job to do. Another person passed them then, giving her a moment to fight through her shortness of breath and calm herself to a point where she could actually speak candidly with him._

"_I survived it because I had to survive it; there was no other choice for me." She snapped at him under her breath. She then regarded him with a harsh stare as they continued down the path. "We're not ordinary people, Tarr. I don't know what they teach the wives of circuit men but I do know what they teach the agents at MI6 and I know that I am damn good at keeping secrets and following protocol. So next time you're so keen on asking me a question about this investigation make sure it is in the privacy of the safe house and not in the middle of the bloody street."_

_She then veered down a little path, dragging Tarr with her. He recognized it as a shortcut out of the park. Sylvia didn't have to say anything about Budapest; Tarr knew he made a mistake in asking her. He silently cursed himself as they walked along; he should have known better than to bring it up. 'You once told me to trust my instincts on women, Mr. Smiley'… that had gotten him nowhere so far. He didn't attempt to talk to her again, figuring it was best to stay quiet for the rest of the time. _

Tarr sighed to himself and knocked on the door to Control's house. His hand began to sweat as he held hers, their fingers interlaced. Only a few moments longer and then they could quit this charade. Smiley opened the door then and stepped aside to let them in.

The second Sylvia heard the door close behind them, she practically wrenched her had out of his and walked over to where she saw Mendel sitting in an armchair in the living room. He was watching them from the doorway but said nothing as they came inside.

Smiley had noticed how quickly she tore herself away from Ricki and went into the other room to make idle conversation with the retired agent. It was obvious that something had gone wrong. Gently catching Tarr by the arm before he could escape him, Smiley asked under his breath, "What did you say to her?"

Their gazes met one another's. Tarr's heart seized in his chest for a moment, knowing he couldn't tell Smiley what an idiot he had been earlier. "I didn't say anything," he said, trying to look confused as to what he might have been talking about.

"I know you don't know much about Sylvia, Ricki, but I do," he said quietly. "Try not to upset her again."

Ricki nodded and Smiley left him in the foyer and joined the others. He didn't need to say anymore on the subject, Tarr already knew he made a mistake. Entering the living room, Smiley watched as Sylvia carried on as if nothing had happened between her and Ricki earlier, whatever that might have been. He knew better than to ask her about it so he decided to move straight into business on the investigation.

After taking a moment to settle in, Sylvia went over to the tape recorder and started to place a new reel on the machine. They needed to get Tarr's story down so that if anything happened to him they would have it on file. Smiley watched from the fireplace as she carefully threaded the tape through the machine.

"_(In Hungarian) Do you think we're safe?" Hanni asked, looking up at Sylvia from his typewriter. It was late and she had just come in for the night. _

"_I don't know…" she told him honestly, pushing her hair behind her ears and leaning against the white stucco wall. It had been almost twenty-four hours since Prideaux had been shot. Sylvia had sent a circuit out to London asking if they should close up shop in Budapest on account of the incident but had not yet received an answer._

_Meeting with her marks today had been quite an ordeal for her. They had asked her questions concerning Prideaux and her opinion on the matter, which she knew was inevitable but still had very little time to prepare for it. It was clear to her that she was under suspicion- everyone was. _

"_An answer came in from the Circus while you were out," Hanni said pushing the cipher across his desk for her to see. The rows of letters and numbers stared back up at her. For a time she thought that they would send nothing. _

"_What did they say?" She asked._

_Hanni ran his fingers through his thinning black hair as he looked down at the decoded message he had written on a legal pad. "They said to stay," he sighed._

_Sylvia paused, taking the message in before nodding. "Then we have to stay," she said calmly. This was not the answer from the Circus that she or Hanni was hoping for, but it was their new orders and they had to follow them._

_Hanni pressed his lips together in doubt, as he folded the letter in half and dropped it in the waste bin next to his desk. Sylvia could see the worry written on his face and knew only too well how he was feeling at the moment. To continue their investigation with such uncertainty was highly unsettling to her; with Prideaux out there to turn the tables, it was anyone's game. _

"_Sylvia, we've been waiting hours for this message to come in," he spoke after a while. "Either they are stalling or they have no idea what to do," he reasoned. _

"_I know, but we have no choice, Hanni. We have to follow orders."_

_Hanni shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before nodding in hesitant agreement. Sylvia then said goodnight to him and then turned out of the doorway, leaving the office. Hanni sat in his desk chair and listened to the fading noise of her heels as she walked down the hall. Once he heard the door to the front of the building close, he turned out the table light and headed over to his cot in the corner. _

_Two weeks later the Circus sent a cable to the office telling both Hanni and Sylvia to get out of Hungary immediately, that all the agents working identities in the country were blown; Prideaux had leaked their names to the Soviets. Yet by that time it was too late. Hanni had been rooted out and assassinated. The janitor found him brutally stabbed to death in the stairwell of the office. Sylvia was captured by her marks at the train station; she had been trying to flee the country. _

Sylvia broke off a piece of tape from the dispenser on the desk and attached the end of the recording tape and put it on the base of the reel.

"Everything's ready," she told Smiley as she stepped away from the recorder. George set his glass down on the mantel and nodded to her.

"Thank you, Sylvia," he said before looking over at Tarr and asking, "Are you ready?"

Ricki took a seat on the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee, "Yeah."

"Then let's get started."

Mendel slipped on the headphones and pressed the record button on the machine. Ricki waited a few moments to let the tape roll and then began to speak.

**AN PLEASE REVIEW! Hey guys, in order for me to update this story, I need to know if people are interested in reading. **


	4. Chapter 4

**The Hotel Islay: The Same Night**

Smiley had insisted Peter come up to the room for a drink before he headed for home; perhaps he knew how angry he was about Ricki Tarr and this was his way of smoothing things over with him. Whatever it was, it took every ounce of energy Peter had left in him in order to drag himself up the stairs and into that room; he was simply played out.

George had them sit in the bedroom where there were no cluttered stacks of files, timelines, or labeled chess pieces to distract them. Peter sat on the end of the bed as George made his way over to the bar by the window. He pulled the blinds shut and poured two glasses of whisky for himself and Peter.

"Here," he said walking over to the bed and holding the drink out to him. Peter took a large gulp of it and watched as George sat in the grey upholstered chair by the tea table.

Once he got a drink in him, he began to let go of his anger. All the edges seemed to soften as the smooth whisky slid down his throat and warmed his stomach. The world outside the little room began to fade away until he found he could just sit on the edge of the bed and simply listen to what Smiley wanted to say to him.

George began to tell him a story about a Russian agent named Gastman. It was a memory of his from the old days, just at the beginning of the Cold War, 1955. He said that the Americans tortured Gastman before the Circus sent him in to try to convince him to defect to England. George's brow knit as he remembered back on the event. He could recall most every detail without difficulty, the only thing he could not remember was the man's face.

"…We were in this little room, he and I. It was stiflingly hot and all I wanted to do was get out and go home. Things weren't going well with Ann, but it seemed important to save this one so I went on."

Peter wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, but he had never heard George talk so candidly about himself or his past. Yet, he seemed so immersed in the telling of his story that Peter couldn't help but lean forward in his place on the bed and try to figure out its significance. As interesting as his recollection was, George never spoke unless he had something to say and Peter was sure that there was a higher point to all this.

George then came to the end of his story. As it turned out, after all of George's efforts to convince the agent, Gastman said nothing to him. There wasn't anything that he could have done to make the man change his mind.

"…He gave me back the cigarettes, now this was a chain smoker mind you, and got on the plane to go back to what he could only assume to be his death… He kept my lighter," George said, lightly knocking his fist against the arm of the chair. "It was a gift, 'To George from Ann All My Love'."

"The man was Karla," Peter finally spoke, now understanding George's frustration. His boss nodded, his face half masked in the darkness. Peter took the last sip of his scotch, emptying the glass.

'A fanatic', George had called Karla… 'and a fanatic is always concealing his secret doubt.' For some reason his mind turned to Sylvia. To him, it seemed like she teetered on the opposite end of the spectrum. He was rather unsure of where she stood with the Circus exactly. He knew she doubted in many things that MI6 and Alleline did, though she mostly kept quiet about it. However, it was never a question as to where her loyalties lied. He knew that she was one of Control's favorites; not a member of the old generation but rather a follower of it. Come to think of it, they both had been on the cusp of the golden age of the Circus, yet it seemed Sylvia had a harder time letting go of it than he did. And then of course there was George.

Peter grew a habit of watching George and Sylvia work together; it almost became a new way of passing the time for him. They were like two finches flying about in close quarters with one another but never once touching. In fact, he noticed that the two never dared to touch. This was the first of a couple signs he picked up on that pointed to a possible secret attraction they might have for one another. Young Sylvia and old George, he thought to himself, somewhat amused. If Haydon and the other office prowlers knew this they'd eat their hats. Yet Sylvia was an old soul as was George; and after Budapest he didn't think that she could ever foster a conventional relationship with someone outside of the Circus.

"You know Sylvia has feelings for you, don't you?" He asked, slowly fingering the rim of his empty glass.

George looked over at him then. He appeared far more sober than Peter thought he was. "Yes, I know," he said, diverting his gaze to the floor. Peter noticed the expression on his face was almost pained; the slight tension around his eyes and mouth were telling.

"Are you going to do anything about it?" He asked, not quite knowing what he hoped George's answer would be.

George couldn't help manage a solemn smile. A long moment passed between the two of them where Peter thought that he might not say anything but then suddenly, he began to speak.

"I've often wondered why a woman like Sylvia would go into the service," he said, easing himself out of his chair and slowly walking towards the window. "Control used to point her out to me in the office and say, 'A woman like that," he said, pointing to an invisible Sylvia at the far wall of the room, "she could have most anything she wanted. Lucky for us, she doesn't know it'. He was joking of course, but I look at her sometimes and think what he said must be true." George reached under the rims of his glasses then and rubbed the corners of his tired eyes. Setting his drink down on the bar in front of him he said, "Sylvia doesn't know the kind of man she could get either."

"Sir?" Peter asked, unclear on what George was trying to say.

"I'm too old for her Peter," he replied simply, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"She doesn't seem to think so," he argued placing his empty glass on the side table and standing up to leave.

"Peter, after today they will be watching you," he informed him. The abrupt change of subject made the younger agent look over towards him. "If there are any loose ends that need cleaning up, I suggest you do so."

Peter looked at George for a moment then nodded in understanding. So it was as bad as all that, he thought to himself.

"Here, let me walk you out," George offered, with some sympathy.

The two of them made their way into the other room, Peter grabbing his briefcase and coat off of the chair in the main room as he went. George opened the door for him and he stepped out.

"Thanks for the drink," he said quietly before turning and exiting down the hall.

George quietly closed the door behind him and headed for his desk. He knew he wouldn't sleep that night and there was no point in trying. He thought about Sylvia and what Peter had just told him.

He had danced with her at the Christmas party the year that he caught Ann with Bill in the courtyard. He hadn't thought anything of it, just a dance between two coworkers. She seemed so young to him then, a Nursery agent like Tarr. But what would that dance mean to him now?... his hand on her waist, her small one perched on his shoulder. George wondered if he would have held her closer or tried to take in the scent of her hair… complimented her dress or told her that she looked beautiful. He thought probably not, that would be a bit too bold for him, but that didn't change the fact that he had the desire to do so.

_"George! George!" Control yelled from the bar. _

_Smiley looked over his shoulder to where he heard his name being shouted and saw Sylvia and Control by the punch bowl together. Control insistently waved for him to come over and it looked as if Sylvia, or Miss Broom as he knew her at the time, was trying to discourage whatever it was that he was trying to do. Excusing himself from the group he was sitting with, George made his way over to them._

_"George," he said with a grin, placing his hand on his shoulder. "I find that I'm summoned elsewhere, would you be so kind as to lead this lovely young lady in a dance for me?"_

_George looked over Control's shoulder to where he saw Bland waiting for him at the edge of the party._

_"Yes certainly," George said with a polite nod, curious as to what Bland wanted to speak to Control about in private._

_"Ah, there we go," Control said, as if having just solved a problem. "I'll see you on Monday before you leave," he told Sylvia, leaning in and kissing the air next to her cheek and excusing himself._

_Sylvia cracked an amused smile, as she watched the old man follow Bland out of the room. She had nearly choked on the smell of alcohol on his breath; he enjoyed his scotch quite a bit. Still, she was quite fond of him. She then turned to George who was waiting patiently beside her, his stoic gaze resting on the door that Control and Bland went out of._

_"Mr. Smiley, I haven't seen you all night," she said with a grin. _

_"I tend to blend in at these kinds of things," he told her, offering her a kind smile. _

_"By the way, you don't have to dance with me if you don't want to," she said, giving him a way out. "I think Control is just a bit enthusiastic tonight."_

_"Nonsense," he said, fully intending on making good on his promise. Besides, he knew she was leaving for Budapest soon and he might not have the chance to wish her well otherwise. "Shall we?" He asked, motioning towards the dance floor._

Taking the headphones off of the hook on the recorder, he put them on and began to listen to the recording of Ricki Tarr they had made earlier that day._ 'Everything the Circus thinks is gold is shit…' _he played back that section over and over again thinking that something about it would jog his memory or put forth a new idea. He took notes on everything he heard well into the hours of the early morning. Finally, the answer came to him… Witchcraft. There was indeed a mole.

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	5. Chapter 5

**The Hotel Islay: The Next Morning**

George ran a weary hand through his hair as he looked down at the notebook in front of him. He had been taking notes in it all night coming to the conclusion that he needed more information about the day Jim Prideaux was shot. It seemed suspicious to him that it and the Tarr incident should occur so closely to one another. They were both connected to Tinker Tailor, that much was clear, but why did the Russians leave Jim Prideax alive and why did the Circus feel the need to cover up that fact? Ricki Tarr on the other hand had betrayed no one and yet they were after his head; it didn't add up. George knew he was either overlooking some vital piece of information, which was unlikely at this point, or he didn't have the correct information, which was the most likely conclusion.

He needed to speak to Jerry Westerby whom he knew to be on night watch the day of the incident. Peter was going to have to arrange a private meeting between the two of them so he could get a better picture of what actually happened that night at the Circus.

He then heard Sylvia's distinctly polite knock at the front door. Smiley pulled up his sleeve to check his watch and saw that it was 8:07am. He took a moment to straighten his tie before he pushed himself out of his chair and made his way to the door.

When he let her in, Sylvia took note of his slightly disheveled hair and wrinkled white shirt. He still had his tie and waistcoat on, as was usual, but she could tell that he was tired; she could see it in his heavy gaze. Looking at him she felt the urge to reach up and smooth back a lock of hair that was out of place but restrained herself from doing so. Keep yourself in check, she thought as she took off her gloves and pushed them down into her purse.

"Were you up all night again?" She asked, untying the scarf she wore around her neck and hanging it on the hook by the door.

"I got an hour or two of sleep," he answered, waiting to take her coat from her.

"Right," she said, a knowing grin tugging at the corner of her lips before she handed him her long jacket. "I'll put the kettle on then." Smiley caught the light scent of perfume on her coat as he hung it on the hook for her. He let his hand linger on it for a moment before he followed her further into the room.

Sylvia observed that the cramped space glowed softly in the morning light which was rather pleasant, but it was awfully quiet. She then noticed that she was the only one there besides George. "Peter isn't here yet?" She asked, knowing that Guillam was more of an early riser than a night owl like George and herself.

"I believe he's taking care of some unfinished business," Smiley replied softly, knowing that Peter must have had a rough night last night. He didn't expect him to join them until later.

Sylvia glanced over at him from her spot in front of the stove but didn't question him further on the matter, figuring that whatever was said last night was between Peter and George. Putting the kettle on the burner, she then spooned the loose tea leaves into the ceramic pot by the sink. Sealing the lid on the canister, she headed over to the desk to see the progress Smiley might have made last night as she waited for the water to boil.

"How was your evening at the Circus?" Smiley asked as he made his way around the stacks of folders to join her on the other side of the desk.

Sylvia kept her eyes on the cluttered blotter as she remembered back on the events of last evening. "Haydon put me on the Tarr case. Lucky for us, it's nothing I have to go abroad for… that would have made things rather problematic."

"Quite," Smiley agreed, studying her sudden introversion with some curiosity.

The kettle started to whistle then and Sylvia pulled herself away from the desk to go take it off the fire.

_Bill Haydon wheeled his bicycle across the office floor, on his way out for the night. Glancing around, he spotted Sylvia sitting alone at her desk; a single gooseneck lamp lit in order for her to see the notepad she was writing on. Remembering he had something to pass on to her, he cut across the room on his bike and stopped in front of her desk._

"_Burning the midnight oil I see," he commented with a cheeky grin as he looked down at her. _

"_Bill?" She asked lowering her notepad and looking up from her work at him. It was rare that he ever stopped by her desk for a chat._

"_Sorry to ruin your evening, but Alleline wants you on the Tarr incident with Guillam," he informed her._

_Sylvia leaned back in her chair then, a bit confused. "Peter can't handle it on his own?" She asked, wondering if he might confide in her why they doubted Guillam's abilities._

"_It seems that one agent isn't enough to bring in a low level scalper. The whole thing's a bloody mess really," he said, seeming not to care what was going on with it._

_Leaning forward, Sylvia folded her hands on the desk then. "Alleline knows I have several agents working identities in Czechoslovakia. Does he think that they are going to come second to this?" She asked, somewhat put off by Alleline's request. _

_Bill simply shrugged, "The thing you get to notice about Alleline is, he doesn't really care."_

"_Apparently not," she muttered, picking up her pen and tapping the end of it on her notepad. _

"_Discuss it over dinner sometime?" He asked casually, a self-important smirk creeping across his face._

"_I don't think so," Sylvia replied with the same level of indifference. Having worked with Haydon for years, she couldn't help but draw the conclusion that his lechery was compulsory._

_Haydon grinned, amused by her flat refusal. "Why not?" He asked._

_"You're forgetting that I'm an intelligence agent and not a witless secretary," she informed him with a satisfied smirk._

"_Of course not, just thought I'd try," he said before heading off. "Goodnight," he called over his shoulder as he wheeled himself into the elevator._

"Milk?" She asked, pulling out the cups from the single cabinet on the wall.

"Yes, please," he answered, looking up at her from the file he had just picked up from one of the stacks next to the desk. Sylvia fixed them both their tea and sat down on the sofa. With her cup in hand, she set his down on the table.

"I want you to take a look at this," Smiley said, walking over to her and placing a red folder onto the coffee table in front of her. Sylvia looked over at it questioningly as George picked up his cup and sat down in the chair across from where she was sitting. She immediately recognized the folder as being a high security clearance file. "It's information given to the Circus by a secret Russian source," he explained.

"How did you get this?" Sylvia asked as she leaned over and flipped it open to the front page. Smiley remained silent as she read through the document.

Crossing his leg over the other, he then folded his hand over his torso and draped the other one across the back of the chair. His usual fox-behind-the-ear expression was gone as his eyes briefly glanced down at her lips. They were slightly pursed as she puzzled over the file he had given her. He knew she spotted the irregularities in it as he did and wondered what her opinion on it was.

Looking up from the red folder, Sylvia caught George's gaze on her. She felt her chest begin to warm from the feel of it and her breathing slow down. She wondered if she really saw him doing what she thought, or if she had just imagined it.

"What do you think?" He asked. His voice was so calm and direct that it almost made her forget about the look he had just given her.

"It's very thin," she answered, tracing her index finger down the front page as she scanned it again. "I don't know if I'd actually believe this."

"That's what I thought as well, but Alleline and Bland think that it's good intel," he explained, slightly cocking his head to the side as he spoke. "This isn't the first of these reports to turn up at the Circus and they're all from the same source."

"This is Witchcraft intel?" She asked, hardly believing it.

A grin tugged at the corner of George's mouth then, "Exactly."

"_Smiley thinks it's suspicious Toby!" Control spoke loudly over the rabble around the table. He was nearly out of his seat at this point._

"_Where did it come from? What's the access?" George asked, looking over the rims of his glasses at the group. Suddenly an argument broke out between Bland, Alleline, and Esterhase then and Control immediately ordered them to get out. Smiley was the last to leave the soundproof room, still curious as to the legitimacy of the mysterious document._

"I believe there may be a connection between Witchcraft and Tinker Tailor," Smiley explained, picking his cup up off of the desk behind him and taking a sip.

"It was a controversial subject with Oliver Lacon," Sylvia said, remembering back on the event. "Bland and Alleline almost didn't get the funding from the Ministry for it; Lacon thought it was too expensive as well as too independent."

"Yes, and something that unaccountable isn't without its risks… a perfect place for a mole to leak information from," he said.

"Very possible," she nodded, her brow in a knit. "But why would they fall for something like this?"

"Desperation," Smiley said, looking at her over his cup of tea. The room became very quiet then. "Alleline would do anything to try and restore credibility to the Circus after Budapest. Witchcraft must have seemed like a golden opportunity for him, so he took it."

"Witchcraft is too good to be true then." Sylvia muttered before raising her cup to her lips once more.

Smiley nodded, "most things are."

**Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please take the time to review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**George Smiley's House: Early Afternoon**

Sylvia rounded the dining room table, letting her fingertips gently graze over the tops of the smooth maple wood chairs as she made her way into the living room where Smiley was standing. Her eyes then fell on a plain and ugly picture on the left hand wall that she hadn't noticed until just then.

It looked like armature work to her. The browns, burgundies, and navy blues seemed to blend into one another in a muddy, dirty mess on the canvas. It was a generally unpleasant thing to look at; cold, stagnant, and carelessly executed. Knowing Smiley and his talent of paying acute attention to every detail, she knew that this motel art couldn't be his taste; it was most likely Ann who decided to hang it.

Sylvia couldn't help but feel a tinge bitterness rise up inside of her when she thought of his wife. The feeling lingered in her a bit too long before she tried mentally stamping it out. She had to keep reminding herself more and more that it wasn't any of her business to think on George's private life. Biting the inside of her lip, she averted her gaze from the picture and headed further into the room so that she was standing behind the couch, looking at George as he buttoned the cuffs of his white shirt. A quiet moment passed between the two as he continued ready himself to go meet with Westerby at his club.

Peter, who was in the kitchen at the moment, was able to get in contact with Jerry Westerby and set up a meeting with him later in the afternoon. He had been in retirement only half a year now, so it was fairly easy to get a hold of him. After Control and Smiley were pushed out, followed by Connie Sachs only two weeks later, Alleline had felt that it was his time for Westerby to bow out as well.

Smiley peered over at Sylvia again, who was behind the couch quietly observing the painting Bill Haydon had dropped off the day he found him at home with his wife. He could see her intellectual mind at work as she studied it, and he wondered what sort of conclusions she was drawing. As Haydon said, _'it's an ugly dorb really'_, it probably seemed peculiar to Sylvia.

George had just returned from Berlin that morning to find Bill sitting at his dining room table, trying to ease his feet in his untied shoes without him noticing. But of course he noticed; he had known that the two were lovers even before this. It seemed that Ann and Bill probably knew this as well because they were very careless in trying to hide it from him.

George knew that Ann was unhappy; she had been for some time. He thought that they could fix things between them again but she made herself quite clear to him when confronted her about Bill. After that incident, Ann left him two days later; it was the second time she had walked out on their marriage.

"While we're away, I need you to do something for me," he said taking his tie off the back of the arm chair and slipping it up under his white collar. Sylvia lightly sat down on the padded arm of the couch across from him, waiting for his instructions. "I need you to get the current address of Jim Prideaux."

Sylvia avoided his gaze then, so he wouldn't see her hesitant expression. Her stomach tightened in a brief moment of anxiety but she immediately centered herself by focused her breathing. She knew that they would have to speak to Prideaux at some point; she just had to keep her chin up and face it.

Sylvia's reaction did not go unnoticed by Smiley. He knew it was hard for her to think about Prideaux, the man had betrayed her to the enemy, but he needed her to be strong for them. This intel was crucial to the continuing of the investigation.

Sylvia looked up at him then, perfectly calm and collected. "If it's at the Circus, it will most likely be something Esterhase filed away," she answered, fairly confident in her assumption. Crossing her legs, she couldn't conceal a bit of a snide smirk, "he always was Alleline's errand boy, wasn't he?"

"Just be cautious on how you go about retrieving this information," he told her, giving her a warning look from behind his glasses.

"Don't worry, I don't prefer the Ricki Tarr method of espionage myself," she joked, a smart grin spreading across her face.

The touch of an embarrassed smile tugged at his lips then as he briefly glanced down at the floor. "That's not what I meant," he said, much calmer than he actually was. The conversation was beginning to edge a little too close to flirting for him and he felt he needed to steer away from it. "I'll call a cab to take you down to the Circus," he said.

Just then Peter walked into the room, his briefcase in hand. "You're not riding along?" he asked her curiously. He had heard a bit of the conversation they were having from the hallway.

"No," George answered taking the receiver off of the cradle and began dialing for a cabbie. "Sylvia is going to retrieve some information for us while were gone," he said, then raising the phone to his ear and waiting for someone to answer.

Seeing that neither of them were going to speak further on the matter, Peter replied, "Right, I'll start the car then." Giving Sylvia a nod he headed out the door. He wasn't going to ask what Smiley wanted from the Circus, thinking it was best that he didn't get involved. The last time he did, things didn't go too well for him.

Sylvia watched Peter through the filmy white curtains at the front window as he got in the car and patiently waited behind the wheel for Smiley.

After George was done with his phone call he turned to Sylvia once more, "A car will be here in about a half hour. I don't think I need to say this, but if they catch you I can't get you out," he told her, rather serious now.

Sylvia nodded in understanding, "I know- you don't exist."

Smiley offered her a sympathetic twist of his lips, somewhat guilty that he was throwing this upon her so suddenly. "I'm sorry I'm sending you in on such short notice…"

"It's no problem. We need this," she insisted, regarding him with a reassuring look.

Smiley wanted to do more than offer her an apology and a simple smile. She deserved more than that, but he kept his distance as always; quietly hoping that she would get out safely. He picked up his coat and briefcase that was sitting by the front door and bid her good luck before heading out.

Sylvia watched out the window from her place on the couch as Smiley got in the car with Peter. A moment later they drove off and she was alone in George's house, waiting for her cab. Leaning backwards, she lay down on the couch so she was looking up at the ceiling. Closing her eyes for a moment she saw a familiar shade of blue swirl in the darkness of her thoughts. It was probably the first time she had thought about the hospital in months.

_Sylvia stared up at the light blue ceiling counting the spackled dots on each tile. Somewhere in the tedium of her self-appointed task she'd let the dots blur into shapes and let those images fade away as she gave into sleep. This was her only source of entertainment; doing it everyday while she was able to remain awake. _

_She couldn't remember being taken back to England nor did she recall being brought to the hospital. Her last fully lucid recollection was that tiny room in Eastern Europe where her captors worked on her daily. The rust stained mint green walls stuck out vividly in her mind as bucket after bucket of freezing water was thrown on her every time she tried to close her tired, bruised eyes. Then, after days of this repeated treatment, days of not sleeping, her eyes slipped closed and she wasn't woken up. When she did finally did come to, she found herself lying under clean white sheets in a hospital bed in a private room. _

_Having no evidence of ever leaving Russia, Sylvia couldn't be sure that she had really gotten out. She wasn't allowed to have visitors or have the blackout curtains on her window pulled open to see outside. One look out the window would have confirmed whether she was in England or not but the staff refused to let her; saying that the sleep deprivation had made her eyes too sensitive to the daylight. Despite what she said on the matter, they wouldn't listen to her. They insisted that her recovery was more important, that someone from the Circus would be visiting her soon. But days went by and no one came._

_Sylvia was immediately skeptical of all these regulations, and also by the fact that she knew none of the staff. She believed that this was another one of the Russian's tricks to extract information from her; to keep her alive longer for further questioning. She had no choice but to assume the worst and continue to resist. Soon she began to be treated as if she was crazy._

Sylvia's eyes cracked open as she heard the cabbie honk the bright-toned car horn from out in front of the house. Swinging her legs over the side of the couch, she sat there for a moment, both hands poised on the cushion on either side of her, before pushing herself up and heading to the mirror in the hall. Running her fingers through her hair and applying a bit of neutral lipstick, Sylvia then observed herself in the glass. She stared into her grey eyes for a long moment then let out a soft sigh. Pushing herself away from the mirror, she took her purse and the door wedge from the hall table.

Locking the door from the inside and checking it after she shut it, she placed the wedge in the crack of the frame and got in the cab.

"Where are you heading miss?" The driver asked, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

Sylvia looked out the window at the front door as she gave the man the proper address. When they pulled away from the curb, she said nothing to him for the rest of the drive. Instead, she watched the familiar streets pass by and the people on the sidewalks mosey along as one should on a Sunday afternoon.

As the driver pulled up alongside the curb at the entrance of the Circus, Sylvia gathered up her coat and purse. Handing the man a ten pound note, she slipped outside and shut the door behind her. Pushing through the turnstile at the iron front gate she headed towards the security checkpoint, her heels clicking in an even rhythm as she walked.

Her heart beat was fast and light beneath her ribcage, yet her breath was normal. Despite her calm outward appearance, everything on the inside of her was buzzing with nerves. She kept reminding herself that all she needed was to write down an address and get out.

_Gripping the side of her mattress, Sylvia carefully pulled herself over to the edge of the bed. She didn't have the strength to stand up but she was determined to get a look out that window. She had to know the truth, to see it for herself and be certain of where she actually was._

_Peering down at the hard, dusty pink tiled floor below her, she eased herself on her side, stopping whenever she felt too much pain. Once she was in position, she pushed the rolling bedside tray far enough away from her so that she wouldn't hit it on the way down. Sylvia took in a deep breath and braced herself for the fall. Putting her hands out in front of her, she rolled over the edge of the bed and let gravity do the rest._

_Her body hit the cold tile with a harsh thud, the flats of her palms slapping hard against the floor as she tried to somewhat catch herself. The IV and tubes she was hooked up to all went taut, pulling against her skin, and she let out a constricted cry of pain. She silently berated herself, angry that she had made so much noise. The ticking on her heart monitor began to increase in speed from the stress and pain she had just inflicted on herself. _

_She had little time now but she refused to let the cruel aching of her body keep her from her goal. Turning herself around so that she was facing the right direction, Sylvia began her painstakingly slow crawl towards the window. Reaching out both hands as far as her sore chest arms would allow her, she gripped onto the floor and drug herself across it. She ground her teeth with every pull, forcing herself to be as quiet as possible. She felt every inch of her exhaustion pressing down on her now as she tried to maintain her quickly depleting stamina. Then she heard the door to her room open and a sudden barrage of light hit her eyes, forcing her to squeeze them shut in pain. _

"_Oh my God," she heard one of the night nurses gasped from above her. "Marge come here… no, get Dr. Finner!" She yelled in a panic out the door, terrified by the sight of their patient sprawled out on the floor._

_Sylvia kept her eyes closed, defeated, as she rested her head on the cold floor. Her chance had been wasted. She was too tired to even fight them as they picked her up and put her back into bed. They had restrained one of her wrists to the bedrail after that._

The doors to the lift closed behind her and she pressed the button for the desired floor on the keypad next to her. As it began to take her up, Sylvia tightly clenched and extended her hands which were by her sides as she waited. She was trying to relieve herself of building tension she felt in her body so she could appear as natural as possible. As the doors opened, she immediately relaxed herself and stepped off of the lift and into the hallway.

Even though she felt the natural urge to get in and get out, she took her time around the office, going to her desk and settling in as she would have any other day. There's no rush, she told herself as she set her purse down on the floor next to her feet and unlocked her desk drawer to pull out some papers. From there, she started to do some work on the Tarr incident, faking some progress while waiting for the opportune moment to make her first move.

Half an hour must have passed when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roy Bland heading out of his office and walking in her direction' probably heading for the lift. Keeping her eyes down on her work she waited until he was close enough for her to properly notice him.

"Roy?" she called, trying to catch the older man before he could pass her desk.

Bland casted her a sidelong glance, looking over to see who wanted him before stopping; seeing that it was Sylvia Broom, he decided that it was worth his time to speak with her. He approached her desk, with a hint of a smile on his long face that Sylvia assumed was supposed to come off as friendly.

"What can I do for you?" He asked, placing a hand in his pants pocket and placing the other on top of her desk. Leaning over slightly, he observed some of her current work she had lying out.

Sylvia regarded him with a pleasant expression before saying, "There are some high-security files I need to get from Archives and I was wondering if you had the key to let me in the gate."

"No, I don't," he said, looking down at her with his thick lidded eyes. "Esterhase does. Such a bother really, having to ask for permission," he scoffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his wide mouth. "It's for the Tarr incident, correct? How is that coming along?"

"Well, with no leads or evidence that he's currently in Paris, as was suggested, it's going just how one would expect it to- nowhere."

"Something will turn up," he said, more as a statement of fact rather than a reassurance to her. "It always does."

Sylvia nodded, tapping her pen against the blotter. "Do you know if Esterhase is in today?" She asked, returning to the subject of accessing the Archives room.

"Yes, but he's out at lunch I believe," Bland replied, lightly knocking his knuckles against the top of her desk. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you waited in his office for him," he told her, stepping away slightly.

"Thank you," she said, grabbing her purse and standing up from her chair. That was exactly the answer she wanted to hear from him.

She kept her calm focus as she neared Toby's office. Knocking on the door first to make sure no one was there before opening it, she stepped inside, propping it open to avoid anyone's suspicions.

"_Miss Broom, you have a visitor," she heard the nurse announce._

_Lazily turning her head, she saw Control standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets and a solemn look on his face. Her doctor approached him then, wanting to discuss her condition, but Control dismissively waved him off. His eyes connected with Sylvia's. The moment she registered who he was, her heart stopped in her chest and her breath caught in her throat as she gasped for air. Sylvia placed a shaky hand in front of her mouth as she stared at him in utter disbelief. The realization finally hit her: she really was home. Tears flooded her eyes then as she let out a weak sob. _

_Despite his poor health, Control swiftly crossed the room to her bedside. Not an ounce of authority was gone from his stride even though he received his notice of dismissal that morning. Reaching out to take her hand in comfort, he spotted the restraint they had put on her wrist. _

"_You bloody imbeciles, get this thing off of her!" He yelled furiously at the nurse, his heart rate skyrocketing as he nearly spit in anger. _

"_Yes Sir," the frightened woman replied quickly as she hurried over next to him and unstrapped Sylvia's wrist. "She was trying to get out of bed, we had no choice…" she tried to explain hastily, but Control cut her off. _

"_I don't care what she was trying to do, this is not how you treat an agent of MI6," he viciously snapped in her face. "Get out!" _

_After doing what he had ordered, the nurse practically ran out the door leaving the two of them alone. Placing a hand over his chest to calm his weak heart, Control took hold of her shaking hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. _

_Sylvia had quickly run out of tears and just squeezed hold of his fingers, laying in her bed looking up at him. He's really here, she thought to herself, a mixture of pain and relief flooding through her. _

_All Control was able to say to her was, "Welcome home." _

_At the time, she didn't know that he was forced to resign, nor did he tell her. When she came back to the Circus, Control and Smiley were already gone._

She quickly thumbed through the stacks of papers and trays filled with office supplies in his desk drawers, finally coming upon a small ring with what she hoped were the keys to his filing cabinets on it. Turning to face the two upright cabinets on the right hand wall, Sylvia shoved one of the small keys into the lock and tried turning it. Finding she was unsuccessful, she tugged it out and tried the other. Able to turn the key all the way this time, the cabinet clicked open and Sylvia hastily pulled the drawer out to search the inside.

She went from drawer to drawer looking for anything with Jim Prideaux's name on it. In the middle drawer on the first cabinet, a paper caught her eye which she snatched up immediately. It was documentation of Prideaux's unofficial resignation and a carbon copy of a check written out by Tody Esterhase to Jim Prideaux for one thousand dollars which was paper clipped at the top of the form. The money they had given him was hardly enough to live more than a couple of months off of. What was most important to Sylvia however was the mailing address to which the check was delivered; it was to a school in the countryside.

Pulling out her gold pen from her shirt pocket, Sylvia pulled up the cuff on her sleeve and wrote down the name of the school on her wrist. The second she was done she shoved the document back into the cabinet and locked it up. Crossing over to the desk, she tossed the keys back in the drawer where she found them and nearly jumped backwards into the lone chair beside the open door.

Crossing her legs, she put her purse in her lap and that was the moment when Esterhase tromped up the steps leading into his office; quite heavy footfalls for a smaller man, she thought. Sylvia looked over and politely greeted him as he entered.

"What do you want, Sylvia?" He demanded with a certain dull quality to his voice that marked his new authority around the office. Inside, however, he was somewhat taken aback by her presence.

"I need access to Ricki Tarr's personal files," she told him, standing up from the chair and smoothing out her pencil skirt. "Sorry if I've disturbed you, Roy said it was alright if I waited for you in your office."

"Yes-" he replied hesitantly at first, then in a matter of seconds convinced himself it was alright, "Yes of course. Follow me and I'll unlock the gate for you," he told her, a bit annoyed that he had to walk her all the way up to Archives and back; that was more of a job that Bland or Haydon would have taken pleasure in.

Esterhase stood somewhat impatiently outside his office on the metal step, waiting for Sylvia to pass him before he closed the door and hastily led the way to the archives room. The man seemed to be in a bit of a hurry as usual.

Once Sylvia got the files she pretended she needed, she took her time packing up her bag and her desk before heading out. She never felt more relieved to leave the Circus than she did at that moment. She walked a good mile before catching a cab and heading to the Hotel Islay Liverpool.

AN: Sorry I've been gone a while! Hope everyone likes this chapter :) PLEASE REVIEW!


	7. Chapter 7

**A Diner in Liverpool: Evening**

The cashier called out George and Peter's order from behind the counter as he set the red baskets of food down next to the glass pie stand. Peter looked over to Smiley who was deep in thought before he slid off of the bar stool he was sitting on and grabbed their meals. George quietly thanked him as he set it down on the bar top beside him. The man was still staring out the window, no doubt pulling apart everything that Westerby had told them; trying to calculate his next move.

_Peter apprehensively approached the open doorway of Westerby's office. The rustling of papers and office supplies could be heard from inside the room and Peter knew that Jerry had already begun to pack up his desk. He had been told just that morning that the man was leaving the Circus. It had been so abrupt he thought he must have been fired by Alleline._

_"Oh, hello Peter," he said, offering him a smile. This didn't stop him from packing. Peter watched as he stuffed a cardboard box used for transporting fruit full of books and manila envelopes. _

_"Jerry, did they fire you?" He asked, remembering what happened to Connie Sachs a little less than a month ago. As he heard it, one day she was told to pack up her things and leave. This had been only two weeks since Smiley and Control had been pushed out. He knew that there was a battle of loyalties going on since the new regime change; he just wasn't sure how bad it was going to get._

_Westerby briefly glanced up at him as he smoothed a piece of masking tape over the lid of the cardboard box he had in front of him. "No, I'm not sacked," he said, cracking a slight smile. "Not exactly, early retirement is all." He knew what everyone must be thinking, and in a certain light it was true, still he was too drained to care. The past few months, dealing with the inquiries on Control, were too much for him._

_"Any reason why?" Peter asked; still not entirely convinced this was the whole truth._

_Jerry's lips thinned in consideration then, his brow slightly knit. "You know, my wife's remodeling the house, I barely even lived in the old model in the first place. All the kids have grown up and moved out, my oldest daughter's getting married soon… so, I don't know really," he said with a tired shrug, "I suppose I just don't want to miss anymore of that. Or, perhaps I'm just tired."_

_Peter nodded; what Westerby told him was a common story for those who worked at the Circus. Most of the agents however never decided to call it quits, letting their outside lives pass by them without a second thought. What was important to them was the job. "Understandable. Well, we'll all miss you," he said sincerely._

_"Thanks," he replied, leaning on the now cleared desk. "You all are going to have to find someone else who'll stay up all night on the ticker tape for you."_

_Peter nodded, "Right then, I'll see you around." _

Pushing his food around his plate, Peter mulled over what Westerby had said about the night Jim Prideaux was blown. Smiley was the first person he called but he was still in Berlin, wrapping things up with a contact. Then Jerry called Bill who was at his club; him being the first one to come into the Circus. Peter stilled his movements. Something was not quite right with this timeline of events.

"Bill Haydon said that he got the message at his club," he voiced his thoughts aloud. "That was 3:00am. The tickertape wouldn't have been running at that time…" Peter then visibly jumped forwards in his seat as if he got smacked in the back of the head. "Oh my God- oh my God-"

"Peter," Smiley interrupted him, seeing where he was trying to take this hasty conclusion. "Peter, it's not what you think," he sighed heavily, looking down into his food. This was embarrassing for him. He knew that the truth had to come out sometime, still that didn't stop him from trying to avoid it for as long as possible.

"Why, what do you mean?" Peter asked, only half deflated from his previous moment of exhilaration.

"Because, Bill was at my house that night," he said, then turning his head to gauge Peter's reaction. The younger man's brow was knit in confusion, not fully understanding how Smiley knew this information.

"Whatever for?" He asked then, unable to work this problem out in his mind.

"Ann," George sighed. He felt his body grow stiff, but he continued speaking. "Bill was her lover. They were having an affair while I was in Berlin," he explained calmly.

Peter stared down into his plate of French fries for a moment as he registered what Smiley had just told him. "God… I'm sorry," he said, unsure of what else to say.

"Thank you," George half sighed, folding his hands together and placing his elbows atop the bar counter in front of him. His gaze was trained somewhere far off as he said this.

"Is that why she left?" He asked, knowing it wasn't the first time Ann had done so.

"That was partly the reason," he answered, a brief image of Ann's empty side of the closet and cleaned out dresser coming to mind. A moment of silence passed between the two of them before Smiley said, "When I asked her why she was going, she told me it was because I was too detached from the world… that that had always been my problem." This was the same thing she had told him the last time she left; he remembered her actual words being that he was dispassionate… at least when it was concerning her.

Peter slowly lowered his fork to his plate as he took in what George had just told him. He diverted his gaze out the window then, his eyes trained on the green pharmaceutical sign across the street as it sporadically shorted on and off. Now he was certain he didn't know what to say. He immediately remembered back to the other night when they talked about Sylvia. Such moments of pure honesty were rare between them and he never knew what to do when they surfaced. He wondered if Sylvia would be any better in responding to them than he was.

"So we're back to square one then," Peter said finally. "Don't you think it's strange that Westerby was told that Jim Prideaux is dead?"

"Indeed," Smiley agreed, having already thought this out. "That's why we need to find Jim Prideax."

_George slowly wandered around the small bedroom, glumly taking note of everything that Ann had taken with her. Nearly everything in her closet was gone, the hangers stripped bare, along with all her shoes and jewelry. He knew just by looking around their room that she was not intending to come back this time. _

_Reaching out a weary hand, he pushed the open dresser drawer closed with the tips of his fingers. It slid easily into place, not having the usual load of clothes in it to weigh it down. Slipping out of his shoes, George sat down on the unmade bed. He had been down this road before, but after nearly twenty five years of marriage he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to sleeping alone. _

_Everyone else outside the Circus seemed to walk in a different world; one without fear or suspicion of betrayal. They knew very little about the dangers that loomed over them. That was how the Circus wanted it. Ann never fully understood the nature of his job; nor did she want to. _

_Setting his alarm for the morning, George headed to the bathroom to get a glass of water. He stared at himself in the mirror for a long while, his body unmoving and his expression blank, before turning out the light and heading for bed._

AN: Thank you so much to those who reviewed! I know this is a small forum and I appreciate every new follower and reviewer! PLEASE CONTINUE TO REVIEW!


	8. Chapter 8

**The Hotel Islay: Late Evening**

George climbed the narrow stairs of the Hotel Islay, pausing briefly on the top landing before heading down the hall to his room. He wanted to make sure he was alone first. Taking out the hotel key from his pocket, he slipped it into the lock. Hearing the tumblers fall into place on the old wooden door, he gave it a slightly firmer push inwards as to not let it get stuck in the unbalanced frame as it often did.

Smiley stepped inside and closed the door, running his thumb down the seam of the heavily lacquered wood to make sure it had fully closed. Old places like the Hotel Islay required more attention than others when it came to securing them. Along with potential character and charm, they had more eccentricities.

When George entered the sitting room from the hallway, he saw that the only light in the hotel room was the orange-yellow glow from the street lamps lining the train tracks outside. He would have thought he was alone however, the leather purse hanging on the coat rack next to the door and black tailored coat tossed over the back of the tatty couch told him otherwise.

Sylvia must have gotten out of the Circus safely, he concluded, feeling a small wave of relief wash over him as he approached the somewhat carelessly folded coat and put a hand atop it. At least he didn't have to worry about that, he told himself. The lining around the inside collar was cold, indicating that she must have been in the room for a while.

Smiley carefully made his way through the area, his eyesight adjusting to the darkness while simultaneously searching for where Sylvia might be. Reaching the bedroom door he saw a faint light emanating from it and he slowly pushed it open. Once he did this, he realized he should have knocked first.

From the doorway, he saw Sylvia lying on the bed, asleep. Her head was leaning up against the wooden headboard, the pillows stacked beneath her shoulder blades, and a thick book lying open on her stomach. Smiley observed how still she was; she must have fallen asleep while attempting to get some work accomplished. The bedside table lamp was turned on, the dull yellow light shinning over her left shoulder. The record player next to the arm chair was running though it had reached the end of its loop.

As George walked further into the room, Smiley glanced down at the vinyl spinning on the turn table; the title of the single was, "Cry Me a River". He remembered this song being played at the Christmas party last year; he and Ann had danced to it. Taking the arm off the record, he flipped the switch to the machine off and the turn table came to a stop.

Sylvia's eyes opened then and she immediately turned her gaze towards Smiley, her hand clapping the open book over the top of her stomach so that it wouldn't fall to the floor. Behind her still and silent stare she wondered if she looked like a rumpled mess. She also couldn't help but wonder how long he had been standing there.

Smiley greeted her with a reserved nod, staying at his place beside the turn table. Sylvia's skirt had ridden up slightly over her knees and George politely kept his gaze on hers. He felt the atmosphere change immediately when she had woken; there was now a slight, but noticeable, tension that buzzed in the air around them. The rain outside beat heavily against the windows now making everything seem closed in and small.

"I got my homework done," said Sylvia with a hint of a smile. Rubbing the sleep from under her eyes she peered over at the clock on the wall behind George and saw that she had dozed off for only ten minutes. Picking the book up off of her stomach, she laid it open on the bedside table and inched herself downwards so that her head was nestled in the warm pillows, careful to pull her skirt down over her legs as she went. Seeing her curl up on the narrow bed and cover a tired yawn with her small hand, Smiley almost regretted having woken her.

"Remember Prideax's UK alias?" She asked, looking over at him. Smiley gave her an affirming nod before she continued. "He teaches at a private boys school in a suburban area just north of London using that same name. The school's address was the only one available in Esterhase's file," Sylvia explained as she then swung her legs over the side of the bed and eased herself up. She knew that if she didn't stand, she'd be too tempted to fall back asleep.

As she came closer to George, he almost reached out a hand to smooth down a tangle in her otherwise straight hair but instead put it in his pocket to try and resist the temptation to touch her unnecessarily. He had found himself doing that too much lately; or at least what he had felt was too much.

Sylvia noticed him glance at her hair and she self consciously ran her fingers through it. Finding a kink, she brushed it out. Stepping over to the left hand wall, she turned on another light which somewhat illuminated the room. All of the lamps in the hotel only gave off a dull yellow glow that was insufficient for working in.

"Did you have any problems at the Circus?" He asked. Sylvia could tell he was tired but never enough to neglect the mission or a member of his team. She always admired that about him.

"No, none at all," she answered, remembering how obliging Esterhase and Bland were to her. Then a slight stinging sensation on her wrist reminded her of her current problem. Turning back to George she said, "There is one thing though. I was in such a hurry I wrote the school's address down on my wrist." Pushing up her muted turquoise sleeve, she showed him.

George stared down at the red and swollen flesh of her tender wrist, the faded black ink of her pen still clearly spelling out the address on her arm, and felt a twinge of pain at the sight. It looked like she had taken sandpaper to her skin and rubbed it until it was raw.

"I've been scrubbing it for hours, but I can't seem to get it off," she explained. George could tell that she was trying to mask her concern but even now she was nervously rubbing at the skin with the pads of her fingers, determined to rid herself of the evidence.

"Here," said George as he gently took hold of her wrist and directed it away from her other hand. He held it in his for a moment longer, feeling the heat radiating off of the sore she had made as he lightly brushed the pad of his thumb over it. "No more of that," he said, glancing up at her then. Sylvia felt her heart rate quicken in response to his touch and hoped that he couldn't feel it through the pulse point in her wrist. After a moment of inspection to make sure it wasn't bleeding, he let go of her small arm, his hand reluctantly dropping to his side once more.

"Right…" she replied with a small nod, self consciously placing her palm over the faded writing, "I'll wear long sleeves for a few days then. It'll be fine… I just wish it were gone." Sylvia pursed her lips and avoided his gaze, staring at the wall just to the right of him.

"I know," he said, understanding her anxiety of having that address attached to her. He knew she couldn't let it be seen by anyone at the Circus. Someone might recognize it and start asking questions. Something like this could easily jeopardize the mission; yet he could understand the urgency of her actions.

Smiley wondered then if perhaps she should be the one to drive him up north to see Jim Prideaux; spend a day away from the office where no one would care about a little ink on her arm. Peter had a few things to do for him at the office anyway, he thought.

Knowing Sylvia was distressed; George walked over to the makeshift bar and poured them both a glass of whisky. Somehow, pouring for her seemed different than pouring for Connie or Peter so he made both of them up a small glass and left the bottle on the counter instead of taking it with him. Getting drunk with Sylvia, even tipsy, would be a mistake, he told himself.

"Here," he said, offering her the drink, hoping that it might take some of the edge off. Sylvia thanked him as she gratefully took it from his hand. They lightly knocked their glasses together in a quiet sort of cheers before both taking a sip. The liquor burned warmly in Sylvia's stomach as she held the glass to her chest and gazed out the rain streaked window at the long arched roof of the train station.

A small, nervous shiver went down her spine then. George and she were alone in the hotel room, Sylvia thought to herself as she gazed at a train snaking its way down one of the many rows of tracks. She wasn't dumb to this fact and she felt that neither was he. It put a strange sort of tension in the air that she tried to ignore but every time she looked at him, she was reminded of it.

Smiley walked by her and sat down on the narrow bed, setting his glass atop the cluttered nightstand. Seeing him move out of the corner of her eye, Sylvia redirected her gaze to follow where he went. She took one more sip of her drink before putting it next to the turntable and going over to the bed as well. She sank down onto the mattress, the side of her leg barely a foot away from touching his own. If she were more daring, more careless, she would have. Just because it was past one thirty in the morning didn't mean she could lose all sense of propriety, she told herself.

"Did Westerby tell you anything useful?"She asked, curious as to how their meeting went.

"It was interesting," he replied, not quite sure the full measure of their success today. However, it would have been as good as none if Sylvia hadn't recovered the current whereabouts of Jim Prideaux. It seemed that everything now rested in what he would tell them.

"Jerry was able to shed some light on the events of the night Jim Prideaux was shot."

Sylvia nodded, indicating he should go on. She wanted to get her glass of whisky but did not dare leave her place by his side. Such close proximity was rare between them and she wouldn't be giving it up anytime soon.

"He was unaware that Prideaux survived Budapest," Smiley explained. "Bill Haydon led him to believe he died… they went and cleaned out his flat together that very night. Afterwards, no one from the top informed him otherwise." He glanced over at Sylvia out of the corner of his eye then, wanting to catch her expression. She performed her habitual pursing of her lips as she bandied about this new piece of the puzzle in her head.

"So, did Haydon feed him false information or did he think Prideaux was dead at the time as well?" She asked, returning his gaze.

"That's what we're not clear on. Either way, more than just one of them knows that Prideaux is alive… all of them, most likely," said Smiley, as he pushed the corner of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Well, Esterhase does for certain," Sylvia confirmed. "He wrote Prideaux's alias a check for a thousand dollars from the Reptile Fund nearly a month after he was supposedly killed."

Smiley nodded, looking down at the floor in thought. He almost mentioned his idea about her coming with him to see Jim Prideaux but then decided against it; it did not seem like the right time. He knew the matter would be somewhat delicate so he would wait a while longer before bringing it up.

"It was written just before I came back from the Nursery. Control and you were already gone by then…" she said, peering over at Smiley. As the words left her mouth, she felt a weight pressing down on her heart. She wasn't sure if she should be speaking about these things to him, but she wanted him to know how she felt. "I couldn't believe it when I heard it. Then when I was told Alleline had taken over, I thought it was a joke. Control didn't even tell me… he must have known, surely."

"He was prideful," said Smiley, his eyes downcast.

"It's been so hard getting by without you George…" Sylvia confessed. Her heart felt like it was being twisted in her chest. "I could never have guessed how much I would miss you."

"Sylvia…" he said, his voice sounding clearly in the room. Yet, he stopped himself, not knowing quite what to say.

Sylvia's breath caught in her throat in nervous suspense, unprepared for what she knew she was going to do next. They couldn't keep pretending for much longer, she told herself… she had to say something and now was perhaps the most opportune time to say it. But how could she ever begin to explain how she felt… and once she did tell him, things could never be the same between them.

George's gaze hovered on his hands which were perched atop his knees before he turned to look into her slate grey eyes. He found her staring up at him, her cheeks red and her lips pursed in worry.

An apology for her previous rambling was sitting just on the tip of her tongue. She was ready to shy away from her previous braveness and give George an excuse to forget that she even breached the subject. But then Smiley saw there was a visible change in her appearance. On a single intake of breath her fearful expression melted away, replaced by one of brave resolve.

"George, I think about you all the time," Sylvia told him. Her voice was little more than a whisper, but it was raw and truthful. It seemed to fill the room with an even thicker tension than before.

Taking in her words, Smiley's brow slowly knit. Knowing that his eyes betrayed his own feelings, he looked down at the floor to conceal them from her. He wanted to protect her, knowing that even though it was the answer she wanted to hear, she would regret it later. He knew that Sylvia was not like Ann, she wouldn't abandon him when she realized she made mistake choosing to be with him. She would waste her youth and years on him, being both loyal and unhappy until the end. He couldn't allow her to do that, despite what his own desires might be.

"You don't want me Sylvia," he told her solemnly.

"No," Sylvia replied instantly, her large eyes staring up at him in earnest. "George, that's not true…" she told him.

Unable to formulate an explanation in words, she leaned over and brushed her lips against his. It was a ghost of a kiss, a touch that almost didn't seem real to George, but he was certain it had happened. Sylvia waited for his reaction in worry.

Her breathing stilled then as he placed his fingers on the smooth plane of her cheek and slowly traced the contours of her face up into her hairline as he brought her lips closer to his once more. Knowing this was what he wanted, Sylvia kissed him again, this time with hunger and yearning.

Sylvia tasted bittersweet with a touch of Earl Grey on her lips, which made her all the more intoxicating. George lightly brushed his fingertips against her arm, savoring the softness of her skin. The warmth from his touch trickled down Sylvia's body as he eased her closer to him. She buried her fingers in his thick hair, touching it as she had desired to do so many times before. George wrapped his arms around her waist and shoulders, gathering her tightly to him. His actions were almost desperate as he kissed her.

Soon George nudged her lips from his, nuzzling down the hollow of her warm cheek with his nose until he came to her neck which he began to kiss softly. His feather-light touches made Sylvia's heart flutter in her chest like the wings of a bird.

Suddenly, there was a heavy knock at the door, jarring them apart. Their faces were only inches from one another but neither one dared to breach that small distance again knowing that they were no longer alone.

George sat silent for a moment, staring in the direction of the front door, wondering how he could have let this happen. Sylvia's gaze fell from his, her hands smoothing down her rumpled clothes as she eased herself off of his lap. She was breathing heavily, still able to feel where his warm lips had been on hers; where his hands had touched her. The moment before was so wonderful, now it seemed that reality came crashing down on them.

George looked down at her and took in her disheveled appearance; he hadn't meant for this to happen. Whatever happened to your self-restraint, he asked himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Then, brushing his hair back he stood up from the bed and headed over to the door to answer it.

As Sylvia watched him leave, her body curled into itself on the bed. She could hear Peter's voice coming from the other room. Hugging her legs close to her, she her shut her eyes tightly as she silently berated herself. She knew she should have left things alone. Knowing that she had to appear as if nothing had happened, Sylvia stood up and headed into the other room to join them.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Hotel Islay: The Next Morning**

Sylvia cracked open her tired eyes, and looked around the dull, cramped room. It was early morning judging by the chill in air and bright sunlight streaming through the window adjacent from her. Feeling a dull soreness around her eyes, she closed them, shielding them from the offensive light. She had not removed her eye makeup from last night which made her eyelids miserably heavy.

Wrestling her arms free from the tangle of sheets, she pressed her fingers against the soft skin of her cheeks and brushed dried flakes of mascara off of her face. Suddenly a strong wave of anxiety hit her as the events from last night came flooding back to her. Sleep had only provided a brief escape from reality and now it felt like a heavy stone was dropped in her stomach.

She pressed her face into the flat down pillows, wanting to let out a scream but restrained herself. She didn't know if she was alone in the hotel room and didn't want to find out by having someone rush in and witness such rash behavior from her. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the corner of the bedside table and tried to convince herself to get up.

"Stupid Sylvia," she whispered under her breath, pressing her palms against her closed eyes and rolling onto her back.

Kissing George was utter foolishness. She knew that this would happen and yet she still had done it despite herself. Finding no point in staying in bed, Sylvia threw the covers off of her and stood up. Pulling the loose tails of her wrinkled shirt down over her stomach, she bent over and picked up her stockings and bra that she had discarded last night before getting into bed. She then heard the shuffling of feet from the other room. Sylvia quickly balled her delicates up in her hand and stuffed them under the covers in some embarrassment as she tried to hide them from plain sight.

"Are you awake, Sylvia?" She heard Peter ask from the other room.

"Yes, I'll be out in a minute," she called, grooming herself a little before heading for the door leading into the main sitting room. For once, Sylvia was glad it wasn't Smiley. She didn't think she could take meeting with him so soon after last night.

Once she emerged from the bed room, she spotted Peter sitting on the end of the tatty couch, reading a novel sized book. He had a small pencil in his other hand to make notes in the margins. Sylvia bent her head slightly to read the title on the cover and saw that there was none. She guessed that perhaps he was reading over a personal ledger.

Peter glanced up at her then from his work. "Oh, sorry," he apologized, taking in her disheveled appearance. "There was no rush. I was just going over a few things."

"Any of it noteworthy?" she asked, assuming he had some reason for calling her out of bed. She wasn't too pleased with his reaction when he first looked her.

"Oh, no, this is for my apartment… rent and taxes…" Peter trailed off as he tapped his pencil against his boyfriend's notebook. He had spent the last two hours of the morning trying to make sense of the sharp scribbles in order to get his finances in line. Now that he was living alone again, he needed to straighten all of this out as soon as possible.

"I've been thinking of looking for a new flat soon," said Sylvia, trying to add to the dull conversation as she headed over to the kitchen to get scrounge up some sort of breakfast for herself.

There really was no point in going back into the bedroom and changing. Thinking about it, she didn't really care what she looked like around him and she assumed that neither did he; not much anyway. Grabbing the loaf of white bread from the cupboard, she saw that Peter had already helped himself to a few bites of toast and had a pot of coffee brewing. It was perhaps the only thing they had to eat besides some corn flake cereal and tea.

Sylvia ate her toast and sipped her sugar laden coffee in silence as Peter returned to scribbling in his little book. She felt mildly bad that she wasn't much of a conversationalist this morning, but there was so much on her mind that she couldn't really sustain their usual polite chitchat. Lost in thought, she leaned against the counter, quietly eating her toast and sipping her tea.

She hadn't forgotten what day it was, not even for a moment when she was rising from her sleep. It was the twelfth of February, the day Hanni was murdered. It happened in their office in Budapest. She had found him in the stairwell viciously stabbed and left to bleed dead by the Russians. She knew that his death was her fault for not getting them out of the country when she could, despite her orders from London. She then set her coffee cup down on the counter with such bitter carelessness that she had nearly tossed it.

Peter heard the light sounds of China clinking together from behind him and not much else; not until a definite crack of porcelain hit his ears. He knew that something had happened last night between her and Smiley, it was obvious. When George let him into the apartment he saw the guilt written across his face. Sylvia spoke about two words the entire time and looked as if she were about to push her way out of the room at any moment. When she retired for the evening, exhausted from pretending everything was alright, he couldn't bring himself to ask George what had happened, knowing that it could only be bad.

Jotting down one last note to himself in the margins, Peter put the pencil in between the pages to mark his place and set it down on the cluttered side table next to him.

"Can I ask you something?" Peter looked over at her from his spot on the couch. He had always been able to talk to her with far more ease and frankness than he had with George.

Sylvia nodded, picking up her cup of coffee once more and taking a measured sip.

"Are things alright between you and Smiley?" He asked, treading carefully as he said these words.

Sylvia nervously stepped up behind the armchair as she placed her hand atop her cup, letting the rising steam from the hot liquid warm her chilled fingers. He obviously knew something about their history then, she thought. That and the painfully awkward tension between her and Smiley when he came around last night should have informed him that something was wrong. If Sylvia could have sunk through the floorboards and disappear, she would have.

"I don't know," she admitted, looking down into her cup. "I made an awful mistake, Peter," she confessed, "… and it can't be undone."

Peter awkwardly laced his fingers together in front of him, looking somewhat like a schoolboy correcting his posture.

"May I ask what happened?" There was a tinge of discomfort in his voice that almost made Sylvia crack a wry grin.

She rubbed her pad of her thumb around the rim of her cup before answering, "I kissed him… but not before I told him how I felt about him." She was unbelievably frustrated with herself about that part of it. They probably could have gotten past the kissing, but to confess her feelings was just too much. It was so uncharacteristic of her to pour out her emotions anyways that it was a ridiculous occurrence.

"And that's when I…?" Peter asked, assuming he had interrupted the two at that moment.

"Yes," Sylvia nodded. "He apologized to me afterwards before he went and got you."

Peter gave her somewhat of a questioning look, before saying, "Does the apology mean that he returned your feelings?"

"Who knows," she sighed with a good measure of frustration. "Everything seemed to be fine, and then suddenly it wasn't."

There was no way of explaining what happened other than that, she thought. It wasn't much of a response on Smiley's part, but she knew what it meant… that they were wrong in doing what they did, that it should never have happened.

"What are you going to do?" Peter asked, considering what she had just told him. Leaning forwards, he perched his elbows on top of his knees.

"Nothing," she replied, turning her cup around in her hand. "I'm going to pretend it never happened."

This did not seem to be the response that Peter was expecting, nor wanted to hear. He knew what one felt for the other; yet they both seemed determined to purposely ignore it.

Peter looked up at her then, unable to hide his concern. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"It doesn't matter what I want, Peter." She told him. "George is still married… and we all have our own obligations. It's better this way."

Peter almost snapped at her then, asking her if she was just too complacent in her misery to do anything about George, but held back knowing he'd only be speaking out of anger. The last few weeks had been hard on him too and dealing with more relationship problems was no what he needed. To keep himself sane he would just have to accept her decision and wash his hands of the matter.

After an hour of quiet pacing and eating, Sylvia decided that Peter had gotten enough of her wretched company. She told him that she was going to go out for a while and meet him at Control's apartment later that afternoon. Tarr and Smiley were going to be there. She only hoped she'd be in a better mood when the time came.

AN: Thank you all who have reviewed this story, it's very near and dear to my heart. Continue to be amazing and leave me a review. I love hearing from you guys and sharing our love of TTSS.


	10. Chapter 10

**The National Portrait Gallery: Midday**

Sylvia stood by the edge of the door to the museum, book in hand, her finger tucked into the pages to hold her place as she looked out at Trafalgar Square from in between the thick concrete columns. Her gaze wasn't fixed on anything in particular; she simply let herself get lost in space. The frigid air cut through her clothes, making her shiver lightly but she didn't make an effort to warm herself. Instead, she concentrated on breathing deeply and thinking of nothing else but her breath hoping that her mind wouldn't plague her with troubling thoughts.

"Are you al'right miss?" She heard the security guard in front of the door ask.

It took Sylvia a good moment to realize that the man was talking to her. She turned around, doing a double take, then saw him looking at her with a measure of concern. Shocked and somewhat startled she replied, "Yes… thank you."

Turning around to avoid the man, she began walking down the stone steps to street level, closing her book and putting it in her purse as she did. Once she got down the stairs, she kept walking. It had been a long time since a stranger picked her out of a crowd. Since someone asked her how she felt. That never seemed to matter anymore, as long as things were going smoothly. Usually she would not mind, but lately she had grown tired of holding everything inside.

Sylvia had took the Tube back up to Hampstead Heath; crammed against the doors of the train as she took the last bit of standing room available. Her breath fogged up the plexiglass and her cold fingers gripped tightly around the steel handrail as the train shot down the tracks. When the doors opened and the 'Mind the Gap' announcement began playing over the loudspeakers, Sylvia nearly ran out of the congested space; fixing her coat as she headed up the stairs to the surface level.

Breathing in the cool air, she decided to take a walk through the park instead of going the direct route to Control's apartment. Looping her bag over her shoulder, she strode with purpose in the direction of the Heath. She realized, of course, that she would have to go to work eventually, but she wanted to take her time avoiding the inevitable… which she seemed to have been doing all day.

At the end of her path through the Heath, passing the swimming pond Smiley often went to, was a flower stand. Seeing it instantly reminded her of Hanni. He was not particularly fond of flowers but she used to get him lilies every now and then to brighten up their office in Budapest.

There was a bucket of white short stemmed lilies sitting out front of the stand with several other kinds of flowers. It was as if they were waiting for her. Sylvia, despite herself, was secretly sentimental. She could not stop herself as she gently raised the wrapped bouquet out of the bucket and brought them to the teller to pay for them.

The others didn't have to know what they were for, she thought to herself. Although Smiley might already know, knowing him. Grabbing up her lilies, she went on her way once more.

Soon she arrived to the apartment. She was still nervous to see him again. The walk in the park seemed to have done little to calm her nerves. Yet, she was as ready as she was ever going to be and she was already late.

Hitching her purse up higher on her shoulder, Sylvia hurried up the marble steps of the building to the fourth floor. She then headed down the hallway and knocked on the door to Control's apartment, not allowing herself a moment to reconsider. It took a little while before somebody answered to her but eventually the door opened.

"You're late," Mendel said as he stepped aside to let her in. Sylvia shot him a look daring him to say anything more on the subject. She had enough to deal with as it was. Mendel wasn't to blame but she couldn't hold in her frustrations.

She hung up her purse and coat and stepped into the living room where the rest of the team was.

"Sorry I'm late, I was held up by the Tube," she lied, making her way further into the room.

Peter was sitting on the couch in the corner, picking at a cheese sandwich while Smiley was at his desk concentrating intently on some paperwork. The younger man glanced up at her, with some concern which Sylvia couldn't quite place. Other than being late, she wondered what she had done wrong.

"Sylvia, you're coming with me to see Jim Prideaux tomorrow." Smiley said, barely even glancing up from his work as he did so. "Peter has got some work to do at the Circus and I think it's best that you stay away from there while your arm is still marked with his address."

Sylvia was shocked, not only by his tone of voice but at this order he had given her. She never imagined that he would ever make her see Jim Prideaux; whatever the circumstances. She looked over at Peter again who was now avoiding her gaze. They must have decided on this while she was out.

"Certainly," She replied quietly, nodding her head oddly to her seemingly disembodied response. "I- I'm just going to go put these in water." She said, motioning lamely to the flowers in her hand. All of the sudden it seemed like every joint in her body was frozen but somehow she managed to deftly make her way to the door of Control's bedroom and close it behind her.

George quietly put his pen down then and sighed. He knew that this news would not go over well, but it had to be done. Then, for some reason, he thought about the flowers she held in her hand. Why would she have flowers, he thought.

"What's today's date Peter?" Smiley asked, staring at the door Sylvia just went into.

"The twelfth I believe," he answered, pushing his plate away. The sudden mood change in the room had put him off of his appetite.

"That's what I thought," said George grimly, knocking his knuckles against the card table in frustration. How did he not remember? He had been so caught up in the case lately that he had completely forgotten.

Peter on the other hand knit his brows together, not understanding the correlation. "What's on the twelfth?"

"It's the anniversary of Hanni Saied's death," He said, gazing down at the carpet.

"Oh," Peter replied quietly, unable to think of anything else to say. He looked towards the closed bedroom door then, concerned for what might be going on behind it.

_Sylvia hitched the bag of groceries she had been carrying up onto her hip as she ascended the stairs of the office building. She turned the corner on the fourth floor landing and stepped in something wet. Sylvia looked down at her feet and saw a trickle of liquid on the dark wood stairs. Bending down, she dabbed her fingertips in it. Turning over her hand, she saw crimson red blood staining her skin. Sylvia's stomach turned to ice as she looked up at the long liquid trail that led up the stairs. Carefully setting her grocery bag down, she stood up and cautiously began to climb the stairs._

Sylvia set the flowers down on the folded quilt at the foot of the bed; careful not to bruise any of the petals as she pulled the rubber band and white butcher paper from around the bunch of stems. Picking up each lily one at a time, she set it in the little glass vase she had grabbed off of a shelf. An image of Hanni's face surfaced in her mind as she stroked one of the petals. Hot tears immediately sprung to her eyes at the thought of him. They stung bitterly as they fell from her lashes and her hand went to her lips to keep herself from crying out.

_Sylvia held her gun at the ready as she came upon the fifth landing. The blood trail became thicker; the soles of her shoes were soaked in it. Yet she ignored the sickening feeling in her gut as she carefully stepped in the thin layer that covered the narrow stairs. Her limbs were shaking like mad as adrenaline heavily coursed through her system. Quickly turning the corner, she aimed her gun upwards, expecting someone to be waiting to shoot her at the top of the next flight. There was no one waiting to kill her, but there was someone waiting on the landing. Despite the large amount of blood smattered across it, she immediately recognized the person's face and slowly lowered her weapon. _

_Hanni was crumpled in a heap only three feet from where she was standing, bleeding to death. His thick button-up sweater was parted, revealing deep stab wounds in his chest and stomach. She only had to glance at them to tell that they were indeed mortal. _

_Sylvia sucked in a ragged, frightened breath and slowly knelt down next to him, her gun still gripped tightly in her hand. Pressing her fingers to the pulse point in his neck, she felt a slow, weak thrumming below the skin. _

_"Hanni," she called out to him; he was still alive but just barely. Placing a hand on his cheek, she turned his head towards hers, hoping that he was still conscious. _

_Hearing her panicked voice from above and feeling her hands on his face, Hanni searched her out through the white haze which, for the past half hour had slowly been consuming the edges of this vision. His honey colored eyes finally found hers and he held her gaze, afraid that he'd lose sight of her if he didn't. He was so weak he couldn't move, he didn't have the will to. Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth, his lungs were so full of it he couldn't speak, but his gaze illustrated to her just how frightened he was of dying. He knew he could not be saved from this, but he still couldn't allow himself to accept it. He wanted to live so badly. _

_"It's alright," Sylvia told him, brushing his limp hair out of his face. Her voice was somewhat raw but she somehow managed to hold herself together for his sake. "I'm here now." _

_She sat down beside him and grabbed up his icy hand in hers. He squeezed her fingers in recognition, holding on tightly to her so that even through his dulled senses he knew that she was still there. He could barely see her through the thick white haze now. Her presence served to abate some his previous fears. Now that she was here, he could be reassured that at least he wouldn't have to die alone. _

_I'm sorry- Sylvia thought as she rubbed her thumb over his cold knuckles- I'm sorry I couldn't get us home. She felt a strong wave of guilt wash over her, knowing that somehow she could have tried harder to get them out of Hungary. There had to have been a way. She remembered him pleading with her, asking her to flee across the border with him. But she refused, knowing that it would be considered by the Circus as defecting, and she wouldn't allow it. Her pride kept them there, that and her blind faith in what the heads of MI6 could do, even though the world was falling down around them. _

_Instead of troubling his last thoughts with her guilt-ridden apologies, Sylvia spoke comforting words in his ear and stroked his hair as she waited for death to come to him, helpless to stop it. She promised him a number of things, most of them involving taking care of his family. But she knew, as she watched him slip away, that the chances of her getting out of Hungary were as good as his. _

_It wasn't long before Hanni's eyes slipped closed and his hand went slack in hers. The moment Sylvia knew he was gone she began to cry quietly, the back of her head resting against the wall and her small fingers still interlaced with his. _

_After a moment, she angrily kicked at the wall adjacent to her, and screamed out in frustration. Tears burned in her eyes as they freely slid down her cheeks. She had never felt so trapped._

_They had been in Budapest without hearing word from the Circus for weeks; living out of their little office. To the Russians it must seem like shooting fish in a barrel. The Circus told them to wait, they had, and now Hanni was dead and the Russians would come for her next. _

Sylvia could hardly believe that it had been a whole year, and still simply recalling Hanni was painful. She had promised him that they would make it out of Budapest; that she would make sure they both got home. But word from the Circus never came and she did not protect him like she had promised. She stood at the end of the bed, the half-filled vase held loosely in her hand as she silently cried.

Wiping away the tears that hung on her jaw-line, Sylvia carefully placed the rest of the flowers into the vase and set them on the windowsill.

On the other side of the door, George quietly got up from his seat, his chest constricted by guilt. Buttoning his vest, he looked over at Peter, who had gone back to work.

"You can go home now Peter," George told him.

Knowing that this meant to leave, Peter gave him a nod and began to pack up his things. Walking the younger man to the door, Smiley also dismissed Mendel who had no problem vacating the apartment. Locking the door behind them, Smiley made his way to the bedroom.

He knew he had made a mistake with Sylvia today, and in light of the events of yesterday evening, he was building up quite a poor track record. Stopping at the door to the bedroom, he gave a light knock before entering.

Smiley saw her sitting on the bed with her legs crossed, staring hard out the window in front of her, deep in thought. Her form was bathed in the warm afternoon light and he could see tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. Sylvia didn't bother wiping them away as she looked over at him. Seeing who it was she offered him a weak smile and returned her gaze out the window.

"I don't know how I'm going to do this…" she said after a while, her voice somewhat horse. There was no point in trying to hide her fear, she thought. He already knew about it anyway.

Spotting the flowers nicely arranged in the windowsill, George closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room. "Sylvia, I'm sorry if I seemed insensitive earlier, I had forgotten what day it was." Sylvia was somewhat surprised by his apology, even though she knew she shouldn't be. It was George after all. She just figured that today was going to be filled with unpleasantness.

"I'll get Peter to come with me instead," he began to say.

"No, don't be ridiculous," she told him. "I'll go."

The room filled with silence then as Smiley watched her in concern. He didn't know whether or not to insist that Peter go in her stead, knowing that once she made up her mind she could not be dissuaded. After a moment he spoke,

"Are you sure?" he asked stepping closer to the bed.

Sylvia looked up at him then in firm resolve, "Of course."

AN: Hey guys thanks to all of you who reviewed and continue to review! I'm very happy as to how this series is turning out and I hope you are too. Unfortunately we are nearing the end of the film timeline! So that means this story is almost over :((( I hope to stretch it out but alas all things must come to their respectable ends.

As always, PLEASE REVIEW! :D


	11. Chapter 11

**_AN: _**Hey everyone! I haven't heard from any of you in a while sooo if you're still interested in me continuing this story**_PLEASE REVIEW. _**I know there's a small fan following for TTSS but I'd still love to hear from you all. This story is kind of like my baby. Have a good read. Cheers!

**_North of London, Midnight:_**

Sylvia pulled into a parking space in the school's empty car park. The wet asphalt gleamed in the light of the streetlamps making it look like a dark ocean. She glanced over at Smiley who was focused on the small trailer parked out in front of the school. The light was on inside, which meant Prideaux was there. It made Sylvia's breathing become shallow.

George was quiet for a moment before turning to look at Sylvia who merely nodded in return. Opening the car door, he climbed out and headed down to the trailer. Sylvia watched his slowly retreating form in the rearview mirror. Once he got up to the door of the trailer and knocked, Sylvia turned around in her seat to look at Jim Prideaux as he answered the door. When she finally saw his face, she felt nothing. Nothing inside of her had changed; no peace, no anger, just a numb sort of placidness which was born from so many years of pain. When this realization hit her, she thought she would be crying at her inability to feel- at her utter emptiness, but no tears came. Perhaps there simply was nothing left to feel about Jim Prideaux. 

_It took every ounce of determination in her to find the strength to push herself up off the stairs and to go into the office she shared with Hanni. She knew that if she had any chance of escaping Hungary she would have to act now- her window was closing fast. At this point in the game, every minute counted- perhaps it was already too late. Grabbing up everything that could possibly link her to the Circus, files, notes, ledgers, books, she dumped them into a large pile in the middle of the floor. _

_Grabbing up a pair of large scissors from the desk, she headed into the bathroom. Every step she took was filled with a determined haste- a focused series of actions that could not be categorized as thinking, but rather her training. _

_She took the complementary cologne off of the counter by the sink and slipped it into her jacket pocket. Then she pulled her long hair in front of her and gripping a fistful of it, took the scissors and began cutting. It was more like chewing through it; the blades were too dull to handle the large clumps of hair she was trying to slice through. After she was finished, she threw what she could of her now short and jagged edged hair up in a ponytail and looked in the mirror. Her reflection was considerably different than what she was used to seeing. It was a quick alteration that hopefully would keep her from being recognized on the street. Grabbing a brown paper towel from the dispenser, she roughly wiped away the tears and makeup off from under her eyes. _

_Walking back into the office, she fished the bottle of cologne from her pocket, unscrewed the lid and dumped it out on the pile of papers she had left in the middle of the floor. The heavy alcohol fumes penetrated the air then, the rose scent that mixed in afterwards was overwhelming. Striking a match she snagged from Hanni's cigarette drawer, she dropped it on the pile, the cologne igniting immediately upon contact with the flame. There was no time to watch it burn. Grabbing up her bag, she walked right out the door, not bothering to look back. Now was when the real games began._

_Hanni's murder meant that she was blown and could finally leave without being labeled as a defector. That's what it took for the Circus to agree that she could abandon the mission. Now Sylvia had to find some way to get across the border and out from behind the Iron Curtain. A part of her already knew it was too late, that this was just standard procedure. _

"The others, did they get out?" Jim asked, looking up at George then. Smiley detected a tinge of hope in the man's tone.

"No, they were blown," he answered, glaring over at him from behind his glasses. "Rumor was that you blew them to save your own skin."

George thought of Sylvia then, waiting for him alone in the car, trying to cope with knowing that the man who was responsible for her capture and torture was only yards away. Smiley wished that he had not let her come tonight- he knew that she was simply being brave for the mission, and for him. It was perhaps his worst judgment call thus far in the investigation. He may have just lost her by allowing this. That thought alone was enough to jar him.

_Beads of hot sweat dripped down the sides of Sylvia's face, trickling further down to her jaw-line each time one of her feet pounded the cobblestones of the old city streets. Each breath she took was deep and measured, in through the nose and out through the mouth, purposely keeping a rhythm to sharpen her focus. She could not afford to mentally bow out for one second or she might falter._

_Once she hit the crowded theatre district she stopped running and began to walk among the throng of people getting out of a late night show. Glancing around her, she tried to mark anyone she thought looked suspicious as well as any present law enforcement officers- more than likely the police were alerted to her presence and were told to keep an eye out for her. _

_She made sure to walk close to single men on the street as to not appear like she was out alone. Whoever was looking for her would not be looking for couples. Hanni was dead, so she would be the only one they were looking for. _

_Passing a kiosk selling fake designer merchandise, she snatched a grey beret and put it on, pulling it down over the right side of her head to try and partially obscure her face. There was little she could do to hide herself from the men she knew were after her- they had all seen her face, knew her voice, and general manner. The only thing she could hope for was to escape their gaze._

_She could hear faint music from the opera house, a medley of deep and lofty voices echoing into the streets from the vented windows of the old theatre. She recognized the faint, lamenting strands pouring out into the midnight air. Tosca- one of her favorites. Her Russian business partners were most likely enjoying the show now with their new contact; knowing that she was to be hunted down and taken care of very soon. _

When Smiley got in the car after his meeting, he began explaining everything Prideaux had told him. Relaying all the information about the night he was shot, as well as Control's private investigation. Sylvia quietly listened, taking in everything he told her and trying not to make it personal. She knew that Smiley also was effected by these same events.

"He said that Toby Esterhase visited him at the Nursery. Supposedly he was the one who gave him the thousand pounds. He also told him to drop Tinker Tailor… the entire investigation."

"He seems to have been able to do that pretty well," Sylvia sighed, putting the car into gear. "Then I guess we have no choice but to confront Esterhase."

"Yes," Smiley answered.

_At the station, Sylvia bought a ticket for the next train out of the country using her Ukrainian passport. It was the only identity she thought might not be recognized. Grabbing up her ticket slip from the counter, she headed over to the turn stiles to get down to the platforms. _

_Something strange caught her eye then, a tall bearded man leaning up against the tiled wall of the station, putting out his cigarette and beginning to walk in the same direction as her the moment she had passed him. Biting down on her lip, she took a deep breath as he walked through the turn style, the man right on her heels. She felt him watching her, knowing that he was getting closer to her with every step as she watched his reflection through the glass cases of the adverts that lined the walls. _

_He was only a couple feet behind her now and the second she saw his hand go inside of his coat, she spun around and punched him square in the face, then took off down the hall in a full sprint. _

_Instead of running the other direction for help, the man shook off the blow and took after her, yelling out in Russian to the other agents placed at the station. _

_Hearing him contacting the others, Sylvia knew she had made a huge mistake in going there. The place was probably crawling with agents. When she turned around to see how many were chasing her, she had not noticed the man on the bench in front of her get up from his seat. Grabbing her by the neck and hair, he roughly threw her to the pavement. Pushing herself around to face him, all she saw was the agent bending over her as he reeled back his fist and punched her in the side of the head. Sylvia's vision blurred as her head hit the concrete. Just as she began to regain her senses, she was hit in the head once more, then in the stomach, and then again in the head. Each blow fed the other, weakening her until one final hit to the temple knocked her out._

_When she came to, she felt the cold bite of metal hand cuffs around her wrists. Her vision cleared just enough to see the train in front of her pulling out of the station. Then she was hauled to her feet and dragged through the station by a pair of police men to an unmarked van. She didn't know how she could stay awake through all of this, her head pounding in her ears, but she managed. She was surrounded by an escort of agents, and the people in the station only stared at her, not daring to do anything else but watch. There was no escaping this. When the black bag went over her head, she knew it was the end. _

The atmosphere in the car was very uncomfortable as Sylvia drove them home in silence. Neither said a word to the other. Yet, they glanced over at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking- gauging their expressions.

Sylvia then pulled the car off to the side of the road, and killed the engine. George said nothing about this strange behavior but watched her stare intently out the windshield instead. Finally she acknowledged him.

"I wondered what I was going to do when I saw him again…" She said, her voice quiet and distant. "But I just sat in the car, looking at him, wondering if he knew what he had done to me... to all of us," she amended herself, remembering Hanni and all the other agents whose identities he had given away. "I felt nothing… that's the truth of it. I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me. And then I noticed how you conversed with him so easily, like you were talking about the weather and not the disgrace of MI6. I just don't understand how we can be so calm in the face of all this chaos, George."

Smiley looked over at her then, noticing with extreme regret how she would not look at him in return.

"We do it because we have to, Sylvia," he answered truthfully. "Though it is an ugly business."

"I know we seek to do this job with an eye of justice but he got to go home, George…" she said, her voice faltering briefly as her eyes filled with unshed tears. "He got to go home and start a new life while I was back in Hungary getting my bloody fingernails torn out. Where is the justice in that?"

George wanted to reply but Sylvia leaned across the bench seat and pressed a soft, insistent kiss to his lips before he could. When she pulled away from him, she looked into his eyes, gauging his seemingly emotionless stare, as she cautiously inched up beside him, wanting to seek comfort in him. He already knew how she felt about him; she didn't see any point in hiding it.

Collecting his muddled thoughts, George put a staying hand on her leg that Sylvia immediately noted and ignored as she leaned her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around one of his. Her soft hair brushed against his neck and cheek and he could smell the faint remnants of her lavender perfume.

He didn't voice an objection to her advances so she took the opportunity to bend down and press her lips to his neck, just above his white shirt collar. She wanted to do so much more but didn't dare in case he'd reject her. Her eyes stung from behind her closed lids as she leaned into him, longing for his acceptance.

George then caressed her leg, his long fingers brushing over her soft skin as a wave of self-loathing washed over him. He knew he should not be indulging in his desire for both their sakes, but he wanted to help her- at this moment, this was the only way he knew how.

Sylvia's heart jumped in her chest from the unexpected contact, her entire body shivering from his simple touch. She then eased herself down so that she could curl one leg over his to get closer to him while wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder.

"George, please," she began in a small voice as she fought back her tears. "Don't push me away."

Smiley leaned his head against the top of hers and stroked her back comfortingly with his free arm. No matter what reasons he had that told him to let her go, he knew he couldn't possibly do that. He cared for her too much.

His hands set out to comfort her then, gently rubbing her arm and the top of her knee. The parts of her that trembled, slowly relaxed under his touch. Soon it felt as if her whole body was melting into him. He then began to stroke her hair, wanting her to feel safe; hoping that he could help ease her anxiety, her pain.

After a few moments he pressed his warm lips to her forehead. Sylvia didn't dare open her eyes, but immediately sought out his hand and held it gently in hers.

Lacing his fingers between hers, George placed another kiss on her temple and then another on her cheekbone before moving down and kissing her slightly parted lips. He held her close to him, his nervous hands finally finding comfortable resting places on her shoulder and hip.

After five minutes in the darkness, the car pulled back onto the road and continued on towards London.


End file.
